


Speaking in Tongues

by Bluewolf458



Category: Numb3rs, The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Sentinel Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: Someone doesn't believe Blair's press conference





	Speaking in Tongues

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Sentingl Bingo prompt 'language and translation'
> 
> Short crossover with Numb3rs

Speaking in Tongues

by Bluewolf

"My thesis 'The Sentinel' is a fraud. While my paper does quote ancient source material, the documentation proving that James Ellison... actually possesses hyper-senses is fraudulent. Looking back, I can say that it's a good piece of fiction."

Ignoring the rest of Blair's speech - what did it matter, anyway? - Colonel Jarvis switched off his TV and sat back, thinking.

When Ellison was recovered from Peru, Jarvis - at that time, still a major - had been one of the team that had debriefed him. Jarvis had always wondered why the Chopek had accepted Ellison so apparently readily; two or three years earlier Jarvis had been one of an army group that had tried to make contact with one of those primitive tribes. Their group had found those backward, uncivilized idiots totally unwilling to accept the benefits of civilization that they had been offered in return for their admittedly in-depth knowledge of the geography of their immediate surroundings. The offer had been firmly, if politely, refused.

So why had they been so willing to accept Ellison?

All right - the rest of his team had died. Ellison had been just one man; but his mission had still been to persuade these ignorant savages to help the army. And somehow he seemed to have done just that. Well, they had been willing to help Ellison.

And Jarvis had always wondered why.

He was ambitious, and a good officer; promotion had been surprisingly fast. Two or three years later, when he was promoted to Colonel, he had checked up on Ellison, finding that he had joined the police, was based in Cascade, and had a reputation as an extremely successful detective.

After thinking about it for while, Jarvis flagged Ellison's name. Thus he had followed the man's career and - eventually - had received notification of the releases made by Berkshire from the document written as a dissertation by the student called Sandburg. These releases had sounded interesting, and explained just why Ellison was so successful a detective.

And now here was Sandburg denying his work, calling it fraudulent, saying it was pure fiction.

But putting all the facts as he knew them together, Jarvis wondered if indeed Ellison was what Sandburg had called a sentinel. It would certainly explain why a tribe of primitives would accept him.

And a sentinel would be of far more value to the army than as a detective whose job was merely the solving of petty crimes!

But why had Sandburg debunked his work? That was the puzzle - Jarvis knew just how much work went into the research and writing of a doctoral dissertation. Had Ellison - who was surely aware how valuable his abilities would be to the army, but who had quit when his period of enlistment was up - threatened him in some way? Jarvis could sympathize with Ellison up to a point - Norman Oliver had been responsible for the faulty intel that had resulted in the deaths of Ellison's squad in Peru, and when a man was betrayed like that by his immediate superior, well... Jarvis could understand why he had chosen not to re-up.

But the man's abilities were totally wasted in law enforcement! Any idiot could do that job!

Jarvis was pretty sure that if they contacted Ellison, he would deny everything - and it would be quite easy for him to pretend he couldn't see or hear things at a distance. Yes, a sudden loud noise might make him jump, but it would make pretty well anyone jump... But Sandburg? A student? A useless academic? It should be easy enough to get him to admit that his dissertation was truth, not 'a good piece of fiction'.

All it would need would be a little judiciously applied pressure.

Not torture. No. Torture was contraindicated; a man being tortured would say whatever his captor wanted to hear, whether it was true or not, to escape the pain.

But discomfort? Jarvis smiled. He had used discomfort several times when questioning someone. It was amazing how willing someone became to spill every bean he knew if subjected to extreme cold... or heat...

Yes. He had no doubt that Sandburg - a soft academic - would be easy to break if he was subjected to extremes of heat or cold.

***

Blair woke, shivering; it was very cold, and the surface he was lying on was hard and uncomfortable.

His first instinct was to reach for the blankets that had fallen off the bed - but no bed he had ever slept on had been as hard and unyielding as this; and so he lay, motionless apart from the involuntary shivers that coursed through him, while he tried to make sense of his situation.

And then memory connected.

A knock on the door, two delivery men with a box, asking for a signature... He had moved forward, assuming that although he hadn't said anything, Jim had ordered something, possibly for himself, possibly for the loft. Then as he reached for the paper to sign on, they had grabbed him... and yes, he remembered a prick on his neck as he was injected with something. And waking here, shivering with cold, was the next thing he remembered.

So... a kidnap? But why?

Oh, God! Was it something to do with Sid Graham and the excerpts he had released from the dissertation, even though Blair had denied their reality?

Well, there was one possible way to find out. He might or might not be being watched, but the odds were that he was. And these cold conditions were a form of torture - 'Tell us the truth about Ellison's senses and we'll let you have some heat.'

But he couldn't do that.

He just had to endure until hypothermia killed him... though what Jim would do without a guide...

And then inspiration struck.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around the dimly-lit room, registering that his upper garments had been removed, but he had been left wearing trousers.

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg." The voice was relatively quiet. "Good to see you awake."

*Yeah, right,* Blair thought.

"I doubt you are feeling comfortable at the moment. I have just a few questions for you; if I am happy with your answers, I will raise the temperature in your room before I ask any additional ones. I will know from your physiological reactions if you are telling the truth.

"As I understand it, you have been studying Detective Ellison's sentinel abilities for some time. Am I correct?"

Blair drew a deep breath that chilled his lungs. Now to see if he could carry this off. "Aang. Aa/ii."

"What?"

"Qugaagix-kux."

"What the hell...?"

Blair was aware of at least two other voices but they were distant, and he couldn't make out what they were saying. And then suddenly the temperature in the room began to rise surprisingly sharply. What he wasn't sure of, though, was whether it had been raised to a temperature that would be considered average in the USA or in Africa. Not when he was still feeling the effects of the extreme cold. So what language should he use when the voice came back to him?

"Mr. Sandburg, is Detective Ellison a sentinel?"

A split second decision. Quechua seemed as good a bet as any. //He is a guardian.//

"I want an answer I can understand."

//You'll need to find someone who speaks all the languages I do.// All right, he was speaking a slightly pigin Quechua, but Blair was pretty sure his captor didn't understand a word.

He felt the temperature rising a little more. At least his body was warmer now; he felt almost comfortable.

"Mr. Sandburg, answer my question."

Blair switched to Swahili. //I've already told you twice. He is indeed a guardian. A watchman. And I am his shaman, his shield. Whoever you are, I would die rather than betray him.//

"I know you speak English. Why won't you answer in English?"

Blair could hear desperation in the voice. And then, faintly, "Put the temperature up another ten degrees."

There was silence for a moment, Blair wasn't too aware of an increase in temperature, but knew there had to have been one when the voice continued, "Tell me about Detective Ellison."

//He is a man with a gift.// Blair had switched to Kombai. He would have to stick with it, no matter how much warmer his captor made the room, because he couldn't think of any place warmer than the height of the summer in Irian Jaya - at least, he couldn't remember anywhere warmer; Irian Jaya was close to the equator. All right, the equator ran through Borneo and Sumatra as well as central Africa and the north of South America, but he didn't know any of the languages from there apart from Quechua, and he had already used that for a slightly cooler temperature. However, he thought it highly unlikely that his captor would have any idea what language he was now speaking; it was probably the most obscure of the ones he had been using.

If in desperation the man tried reducing the temperature again, Blair could go back to one of the Inuit languages. After almost a year spent in Alaska, he knew three reasonably well. For more reasonable temperatures, there was Swahili or Quechua for reasonably warm and Nepalese for cooler.

The 'questioning' - if continuing demands to be told about Jim could be called 'questioning' - went on for a while, with the temperature fluctuating up and down, and Blair adapting the language he used for his response depending on that temperature. And he continued to answer truthfully, remembering the man's claim that 'I will know from your physiological reactions if you are telling the truth.'

Since the cadence and sounds of the different languages varied, he was pretty sure that his questioner understood that he was using different languages. He could only guess at how frustrated the man was, and he was half expecting someone to come into the room soon and at least threaten violence... but as long as he flatly refused to speak English, Jim was safe, and that was all that mattered.

***

The psychologist studying the readings could only be grateful that their captive had not attempted to move from the 'bed' on which he had been lying. His sitting up had weakened the readings from the sensors embedded in the surface, but they were still clear enough to show absolutely no change in his physiological response when he answered. Whatever language - or languages - the man was speaking, what he was saying was the truth, and Dr. Unger could only be grateful for that. He could at least assure Colonel Jarvis that the readings he was obtaining were accurate.

Unger was far from sure what Jarvis' reactions would have been if his report was either 'Whatever he's saying, he's lying' or 'I can't get a reading because he's moved' - but he was quite sure that they would not auger well for him. He had worked with Jarvis before, and he was far from sure whether the man was completely sane. Unger was quietly trying to decide what he would do if Jarvis decided to take out his obvious frustration on the prisoner.

In addition, Unger was still trying to understand just what Jarvis wanted from the man. For a start, what was a 'sentinel'?

***

Jarvis was getting more and more frustrated. Whatever uncivilized languages this stupid academic was using - and the rhythm told him that these were languages, and not just meaningless babble - it would not be easy to find someone who could speak them; and if he did find someone who could speak one of those languages, all the uncooperative bastard had to do was switch to another one!

Why wouldn't he speak English, the only civilized language there was?

All right.

Forget temperature. It had served him well in the past as an incentive, but it clearly wasn't going to work here.

Next thing to try - hunger.

Hunger. Yes - that had worked on the odd occasion that temperature didn't. And although the amazingly resilient academic hadn't succumbed to the temperature challenge, Colonel Jarvis was quite sure he would succumb to hunger. He had already been a full twenty-four hours without food - possibly even as much as thirty, depending on when he had had lunch, maybe even more than that if he hadn't taken time for lunch - so he must be hungry already.

Thirst, too, was a great motivator - but it could kill too quickly.

Hmmm... Yes, he should provide his prisoner with water.

Leaving the switch on the intercom he had been using at 'off' he called to the assistant who was helping Dr. Unger. "Take a big bottle of water to the prisoner. But don't speak to him. Just put it down beside him."

Ted Foster scowled slightly. That wasn't his job! But he had early learned that Jarvis had his own ideas about what the men he employed should do, and that it was easier to obey the man's sometimes random orders than refuse. So he said, "Yes, sir," and hastened to obey.

He didn't expect Jarvis to reimburse him for the money he spent buying a big bottle of water from the canteen, either.

He took the water in to the captive and, careful to obey orders, put it down beside him, saying nothing. As he turned to go, the prisoner murmured, "Asante," before reaching for the water.

Foster's lips twitched slightly as he closed the door behind him. He guessed that the word meant 'Thank you', whatever language it was, and he found it slightly amusing to think that if Jarvis was listening in he still wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing the man speaking in English.

***

When Jarvis finally gave up his questioning for the day and stamped away, anger in his every line, Unger and Foster looked at each other. They closed down their equipment, both aware that they would be going home to warm, comfortable beds, while the prisoner had only the hard, blanketless bed to sleep on.

They were careful to remain silent while they were in the building; neither trusted Jarvis not to have bugs to catch any unwary words they - or anyone else unfortunate enough to be working 'with' Jarvis - might utter.

Unger glanced at his car, far from sure that Jarvis hadn't found some way to bug it - and not too sure that he hadn't managed to bug their homes, too. "I want to speak to you privately," he murmured. "Any suggestions where we might go?"

Foster nodded. "There's a diner I sometimes use. I wouldn't think we could be overheard there." He gave Unger directions to it.

As they got into Unger's car, Foster - who usually travelled by bus - said "Thanks for giving me a lift, boss."

"No problem, Ted. We've had a long day."

They said nothing else.

***

The diner, while busy, wasn't crowded, and they settled into a booth and studied the menus they had been given. Once they had given their orders and their beer had been served, Unger said, "What I don't get is what Jarvis is wanting from Sandburg. For a start, what's a 'sentinel'?"

"The story was a local one-day wonder up in Washington State about a week ago," Foster said. "It might have lasted longer, but that scandal about Senator Grieve taking bribes hit the headlines, and a very minor scandal involving academic fraud was totally brushed aside as being not newsworthy. I only know about it because I was at Rainier University and still have friends there - one of them told me about it." He fell silent as their meals were served.

Once the waiter had gone, he carried on. "I never actually knew Sandburg, but I knew of him. He was working for a doctorate, working with a detective in the local police force. Whatever it was he wrote, it found its way into the hands of Berkshire Publishing, and Berkshire started to release snippets from it as - well, teasers for the publication of the book. Those snippets described the detective he was riding with as a sentinel - a man with very acute senses.

"But then he called a press conference, and said he'd made up his facts. That it was just a good piece of fiction. Rainier threw him out.

"But Boss... I'm wondering... was it the truth? Because something is making him answer all Jarvis' questions in gobbledygook, and if 'made up his facts' was true, a straight denial - 'No, he isn't a sentinel' - in English would show up as the truth on your equipment."

Unger ate for a few moments in silence, before saying, "I never had that high an opinion of Jarvis' intelligence. He obviously doesn't have the insight to see that."

They ate for a minute more before Foster said, "I wonder how that publisher got hold of the manuscript? Because I can understand why they'd want to keep it quiet."

"Does it really matter?" Unger asked. "But... " He sighed. "I've never really felt comfortable with Jarvis' methods of questioning, but he's my senior officer, and army discipline... This time, though... "

Foster nodded. "I know. When I took that water in to Sandburg... He was obviously very thirsty but he still took time to say what I assume was 'thanks' in one of his languages. I think... I think one of us should phone Cascade PD and let them know where Sandburg is. I know we're totally out of their jurisdiction, but at least it might let them do something to help the man."

Unger nodded. "I'll take you home, then I'll do it. Find a pay phone somewhere, and make the call."

"You sure, Boss? You have more to lose than I do if Jarvis finds out."

"I'm sure, Ted. Even though you know more about the circumstances than I do, I think it's my responsibility."

They finished their meal, paid and left the diner.

***

In Cascade, Jim Ellison was not a happy man. He had arrived home to find the door; although it was closed, unlocked - and his guide missing, although his car was parked in its usual place. That alone told him that there was something wrong. Blair might be careless about one or two things, but leaving the door unlocked wasn't one of them. Even when Jim was in, even if he was just going to the bakery downstairs, Blair always locked the door.

He phoned Simon, who promptly put out an ABP on the missing ex-student-soon-to-be-police-cadet.

Jim had a restless night, and when he arrived at the PD next morning spent most of the day  phoning everyone he could think of who might have some idea of where Blair had gone.

He was, in some ways, surprised at how disturbed most of Blair's university friends and colleagues were. In other ways he wasn't really surprised. Only one or two had taken the claim of 'fraud' seriously; Blair had often spoken of his work with the police and most of his fellow TAs had believed that his dissertation was indeed on the work of the police. They knew of his obsession with sentinels, and had been unsurprised by the possibility that he had written a book about one - and most thought that Blair had used Jim's name to help him focus, planning in changing it when he did his final self-edit.

But nobody, no matter how sympathetic, had any ideas about where Blair might have gone.

Jim stayed late at the PD that night, appreciating the fact that Simon stayed with him.

When the phone rang, both men jumped. Jim grabbed it.

"Ellison."

"Hello, detective. I'm not going to give you my name - but I have some information for you. Your friend, Mr. Sandburg - "

"What about him?"

"He's in trouble. He was kidnapped on the orders of an army colonel - Jarvis - who is trying to force him to admit that you are a sentinel. He's in an army base just outside Los Angeles. I know that's well out of your jurisdiction, but knowing where he is might give you a chance of rescuing him."

"Is he all right?"

"He's... not comfortable, but he's resisting easily enough. Jarvis doesn't have the insight to realize it but the way Sandburg's answering the questions... He's telling the truth but in a way that Jarvis can't understand. I hope you can use this information to rescue Mr. Sandburg." There was a click as the phone was hung up.

"What was that about?" Simon asked.

Jim explained, frowning thoughtfully.

"We've got to contact the LAPD, get their help!" Simon snapped.

Jim shook his head. "I'd doubt the police have the clout to tackle the army... but the Feds? When it's a case of kidnapping? It's worth trying."

He dug into a drawer of his desk and withdrew a small book; he checked it, then picked up his phone again and dialled.

"Hello, Alan. It's Jim Ellison. Is Don there?... Hello, Don. I know, it's been a while. Thing is, I have a problem - or rather, a friend of mine does, and I was hoping you might be able to help... and if you can, there's no limit to what I'll owe you." He went on to explain the problem. "Yes - the police won't have the jurisdiction, but I thought you might. It's a cross-state kidnapping, after all. My informant didn't tell me exactly where the base is where Blair's being held, but there can't be that many army bases near LA... No, he didn't give me his name, which makes me think he maybe works there and... yes. I'd guess an underling with a conscience. Actually I do remember a Major Jarvis - he was there when I was debriefed after Peru. It's probably the same guy - his attitude wasn't one that would encourage blind loyalty. Yes. Thanks. Yes, I'll come down - it'll be good to see you all again.... hold on a sec."

Simon was gesturing. "I'm coming too."

"My boss just said he'll come as well. Blair's his friend too. Right; we'll be down as early tomorrow as possible."

He hung up, and glanced at Simon.

"You on first name terms with a Fed?" Simon asked.

"It was actually his younger brother I met first. I was still in the army at the time, on holiday in LA, and this teenager had run into a bit of trouble with a group of bullies. He was too outnumbered to stand a chance, so I waded in to help him. After I'd flattened two of the gang the rest of them ran for their lives.

"Charlie was pretty shaken, so I took him home. Spent the rest of that leave with the family. The older brother - Don - was just finishing High School. He hadn't been quite sure up to that point what he wanted to do, but after what happened to Charlie he decided on law enforcement.

"We've kept in touch intermittently ever since. Now I'd better see if I can get a flight to LA tomorrow."

***

After Jim rang off, Don Eppes didn't waste any time. He began to make inquiries about an army base a little outside LA...

***

The following morning, Colonel Jarvis made his way into his office, and switched on the camera that let him watch Blair.

Blair was actually sitting up, sipping at the bottle of water; Jarvis noted that there was very little left. Hmmm... better get that unnecessary lab assistant to take in another bottle. Meanwhile...

"Good morning, Mr. Sandburg. Are you feeling any more co-operative this morning?"

"Ulaakut," Blair said. Although it wasn't as cold as the previous morning, it was still chilly enough that he chose to use the Inuit greeting, knowing that the one word would be enough to tell the bastard 'No, I'm not co-operating!'

"Mr. Sandburg, if you want - " He was interrupted by a loud bang against the door; it flew open, and half a dozen men piled in, all yelling, "FBI! FBI!"

Jarvis stiffened. "What the hell?! This is an army unit! You have no jurisdiction here!"

"Wrong!" one of the men said. "We have reason to believe that you are holding a civilian here as a prisoner - a man you had kidnapped from Washington State a couple of days ago. Cross-state kidnap is inside the jurisdiction of the FBI. One of my men is currently speaking to your superior officer."

Meanwhile, three other FBI agents had made their way to the lab where Unger and Foster were. "FBI."

"Are you here about Mr. Sandburg?" Unger asked. "He's here." He headed for the door of the room where Blair was, and opened it.

"Mr. Sandburg? Blair?" one of the men said.

Blair looked at him, not sure how best to respond. The man grinned. "I'm Charlie Eppes - I'm a friend of Jim Ellison, and I work with the FBI."

"He's never mentioned you," Blair said hesitantly.

"It's a while since we last saw him... we met when he saved me from a gang of bullies a few years ago. Now come on - " He pulled off his coat and gave it to Blair. "You'll be warmer with that on." He glanced at Unger and Foster. "Was it one of you who contacted Detective Ellison?"

"It wasn't right - what Colonel Jarvis was doing," Unger said.

"I doubt you'll be blamed," Charlie said. "You couldn't refuse to obey orders."

Unger grinned, looking at Blair. "You had him really frustrated, you know."

Blair grinned, and Foster added, "It was inspired to thank me in whatever language you used."

"I hoped you'd realize it was saying 'thanks'," Blair murmured.

"I did, and I appreciated it."

Charlie took Blair to the FBI office, where he gave a statement, then took him home. "Jim is on his way," he told Blair. "And his boss is coming too."

"Simon?" Blair looked slightly stunned.

"He insisted he was your friend too. But I doubt either of them expected to find we'd already freed you by the time they got here. Here we are - I'm sure you'd like a shower, and I'll look out some clothes for you." He ushered Blair into the house.

Half an hour later, Blair was sitting talking to Charlie and his father Alan when the bell rang, and Charlie opened the door to Jim and Simon. "Jim!" he said happily.

"Is there any word?" Jim asked.

"See for yourself." Charlie let them in.

"Chief!" Jim ran from the door and threw his arms around his friend, who rose to meet him. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"Two guys came to the door... " Blair explained what had happened. "The guy who was holding me prisoner said he'd know if I was lying... and kept varying the temperature to keep me physically uncomfortable. So I told him the truth... in several languages. Inuit, Quechua, Swahili, Kombai... He got pretty frustrated."

Jim burst out laughing. "Only you, Chief. Only you."

Jim, Blair and Simon stayed with the Eppes for a couple of days, long enough for Don to learn that the army was throwing Jarvis to the wolves - well, to the FBI - and he was being charged with kidnap. Blair, who had never seen the man, wouldn't be required to give evidence - Jarvis' two underlings had agreed to testify against him.

When they left, Jim repeated what he had told Don earlier - anything he could ever do for the Eppes, all they had to do was ask.

Don laughed. "I'll take you up on that when you take us up on what we owe you for helping Charlie all those years ago. Friends help friends, Jim... and we hope Blair is our friend too, now."

And Blair could only nod agreement.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aang. Aa/ii - Yes (in two north-of-Arctic-Circle languages)  
> Qugaagix-kux - His shaman  
> Ulaakut - Good morning.
> 
> Asante - Thank you (Swahili)


End file.
